The Unexpected BBC Sherlock Love Story
by 88IAMSherLOCKED88
Summary: When an old friend from John's past moves into the flat next door, what will our favorite highly-functioning sociopath think when he starts feeling emotions? Rates T for slight cussing and vivid word picture things.
1. Profile

_A/N: You HAVE to read the bio to understand what the fuzzy is going on! I just thought of this story today. And the first chapter with the rain; its been pouring buckets this whole week so I thought it would fit great! Anyway…Character Profile!_

_ Thanks,_

_ 8IAMSherLOCKED8 _

(The bio is very essential to read!)

* * *

Name: Riza Lea (pronounced Lee) James

Sex: Female

Age: 34

Hair Color: Straight Brown Hair

Eye Color: Calypso Sky (really pretty)

Family: Mother (deceased); Father (deceased); Adoptive Mother; Adoptive Father; Adoptive Brother

Job: Singer at a local diner

Hobby: singing; dancing; playing piano and violin; drawing (can do realistic drawings amazingly)

Bio: When she was born, she was brought to a modern-style home and was treated like any child should be treated by her parents. She was an only child, and her parents were always working, so she was alone for along time. She'd be able to spend time with them during the evening but sometimes they'd work overtime. She didn't have any friends because she was homeschooled, so when she wasn't being homeschooled, to fill the time, she started taking walks. One day she came across a park and saw a boy sitting on a bench by himself. The boy looked to be at least 2 or 3 years older than her and had blond hair and dark grey-blue eyes. He looked lonely and so she walked over and asked if she could sit down with him. His eyes lit up like it was Christmas, and he nodded eagerly. They introduced themselves and figured out his name was John. From then on, they were best friends.

Two years later, when she was 13 and he was 16, her parents died in a plane crash when they were going on a business trip. When she figured out what had happened she ran to John's house and when he opened the door she hugged him tightly, telling him what had happened. He told her it'd be okay…but it wasn't.

She was put in an orphanage to be adopted, and John tried to tell his parents to adopt her but they couldn't cause they wouldn't have enough room, so for two months she waited to be adopted and finally the day came that she was adopted into a very rich family.


	2. 222B Baker Street

_A/N: So I had to update this again because I kept forgetting to go by the storyline. I really am an idiot. Oh well at least I'm used to be calling that, even though its not true. Anyway, enjoy. R&R!_

_thanks,_

_88IAMSherLOCKED88_

* * *

~*~222B Baker Street~*~

The rain was coming down heavy on my chilled body as I unloaded my belongings, to move into my new flat, on 222B Baker Street. It was late January, and freezing cold; the wind and rain is definitely not helping.

I realized that people just don't like to help each other in England, because everyone who passed by just looked at me and went on with their lives.

I feel so worthless and unwanted. Just like when I was younger…

I shook that thought out of my head and carried on, bringing things into the flat by myself.

* * *

~*~?'s P. O. V.~*~

I made my way to Baker Street, where Sherlock told us to meet, and where a moving truck was parked, and someone's belongings were everywhere. This being England, I have a feeling no one is helping.

As we got closer, I saw a person picking up a box and taking it inside 222B. That person was only wearing a light jacket with the hood up and jeans, and their hair was flying everywhere outside of the hood because of the wind. It was a girl. But something about this girl seemed familiar, just by looking at the style of her clothes.

Just as I was about to pass her, she picked up a box and turned to take it inside, but I didn't have enough time to move so she ran right into me and we both almost went down. Luckily someone was behind me and pushed me back up. I steadied her, then looked behind me to find Sherlock, looked back at the girl and she looked down.

"I am so sorry about that! I didn't see you there!" She apologized, and I chuckled.

"No blood, no foul." She laughed with me and I picked up the box that fell to the ground at our impact and gave it to her. She took the box and looked up, grateful.

That's when I stopped breathing.

* * *

_A/N: Tell me what you think!_


	3. Those Eyes

_A/N Hello! I've been working all day on this so I hope you guys enjoy! _

_Thanks,_

_88IAMSherLOCKED88_

* * *

~*~Those Eyes~*~

~*~3rd P. O. V.~*~

Sherlock heard his new flatmates breath hitch and looked at where he was staring. His breath stopped as well.

They looked up to find the most beautiful blue eyes looking right back at them. His flatmate started to say something that sounded like 'Calypso…'. Calypso? What's that have to do with anything? Sherlock wondered.

"Um…I'm sorry, it's pouring out here and I'm freezing so, um, excuse me." She said awkwardly, making her way around them. Their eyes followed her, as she quickly and carefully set the box down and ran back out.

"Cal-Calypso…?" The man said, as she started walking back to the house. Sherlock was even more confused. When she heard that, she immediately froze and turned slowly around.

"How do you know that name?!" She whispered. Sherlock looked at the man surprised.

"You don't recognize me, do you Riza?" Her eyes widened as they were dawned with recognition. Sherlock looked between the two.

"J-John!?" He nodded and she nearly dropped the box, but set it down quickly and ran to him. Sherlock moved out of the way just as John caught Riza in a hug.

"Calypso sky! The only way to recognize you is by your eye color!" John said, laughing. Sherlock shook his head, getting frustrated.

"Come along John, we have a flat to look at." He said. They unhooked themselves and looked at him.

"A flat?" Riza asked.

"Don't worry about it…you need help with your stuff don't you?" John said, nodding to the piles of boxes and furniture. She gave a nervous laugh.

"Not really, I think I got it. You go to look at the flat or what ever you're doing. We can catch up later."

"Are you sure? How about you just take a break? You're gonna catch a cold." John said, worriedly.

"Of course she's gonna be fine. A women is less likely to catch a cold than a man is." Sherlock said, in a matter-of-factly tone. John glared at him.

"Though that is true it's nothing I haven't survived through before. Now go." She said giving him a little push. He sighed dramatically and gave her another hug.

"Well, alright. But once you're done, come visit me! I'm right next door. 221B. Come on Sherlock. Bye James."

"Bye Watson."

* * *

~*~Riza~*~

I watched John and his friend's (who i didn't get a good look at through the rain) retreating figures. He hasn't really changed, and I can't believe he still remembers that nickname…hmm that other man. Is that his flatmate? Or his boyfriend? Is he gay now? Oh well!

I shrugged and went back to moving everything.

* * *

~*~Sherlock~*~

Her eyes...those eyes. They made you want to crawl into a hole and hide. Like she could read everything about them. I was intrigued.

"So, who was that?" I asked, trying to hide my frustration while hanging up my coat, and starting up the stairs.

"Just an old friend from my childhood." John answered.

"And you called her Calypso? Isn't that from a Greek myth or something?" I asked.

"Huh? Oh yeah." He said obviously distracted.

* * *

~*~Riza~*~

Alright, I'm freezing out here and my place doesn't have that much heat. I'm heading over to John's place. He said to come over after I was done, but knowing him, he won't mind.

So I walked up to the door and knocked. No one answered so I twisted the knob and saw it was open, so I let myself in and heard voices as I slowly made my way up the steps.

"…is all." I heard someone faintly say.

"Well, obviously I can straighten things up a bit." A deep baritone voice said. I was on the next flight when I heard John's voice.

"That's a skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say friend…" I'm guessing that was Sherlock's voice. Then an elderly lady came by.

"Excuse me dear. What do you think, then, Dr Watson? There's another bedroom upstairs, if you'll be needing two bedrooms." She shuffled past me and into the flat. Then I walked up behind John.

"Of course we'll be needing two rooms." I started to snicker but I caught myself.

"Oh, don't worry, there's all sorts around here. Mrs Turner next door's got married ones. Sherlock! The mess you've made." This caused me to start laughing. Then John and Sherlock looked at me, startled.

"How long have you been there?" John asked.

"When you asked about the skull." I replied. Sherlock shook his head. John and I looked at him.

"Why didn't I hear you come in? Why can't I read you?!" He asked frustrated. I looked at John confused.

"Sorry?" I asked Sherlock, and he just shook his head again.

"Never mind." I looked at John, confused again, just shrugged and sat down in a chair.

"What about these suicides, then, Sherlock? I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same." The elderly lady said while I picked up the newspaper. I watched Sherlock walk to the window and look out. I noticed that the rain had stopped and the sun started to peak through a bit

"Four. There's been a fourth. And there's something different this time." Sherlock said.

"A fourth?!" I exclaimed. After I said that, a man walked in wearing a uniform.

"Where?" Sherlock asked without looking at anyone.

"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens." The man replied.

"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me otherwise something different." Sherlock said looking at the man

"You know how they never leave notes?" The man asked Sherlock.

"Yeah."

"This one did. Will you come?" Sherlock turned to look at him.

"Who's on forensics?"

"Anderson." Sherlock sighed.

"Anderson won't work well with me."

"Well, he won't be your assistant." The man said, clearly getting annoyed.

"I _need _an assistant." I noticed Sherlock emphasized on need.

"Will you come?"

"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind."

"Thank you." Then the man left. Sherlock waited till the man was out of the room, to do a happy sort of gesture, which I watched with amusement.

"Brilliant! Yes! Four serial suicides and now a note. Oh, it's Christmas. Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."

"I'm your landlady, dear, not your housekeeper." Mrs Hudson said.

"Something cold will do. John, Riza, have a cup of tea, make yourselves at home. Don't wait up!" Sherlock said, shoving on his coat and running out the door.

"Look at him, dashing about…My husband was just the same. But you're a standing type," she gestured to me. "And you're more of the sitting-down type, I can tell. I'll make that cuppa, you rest your leg." She turned around making her way into the kitchen.

"Damn my leg!" I flinched. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing…" John said calming down and tapping his cane against his leg. I giggled.

"I understand, dear, I've got a hip." Mrs Hudson said and going back into the kitchen.

"Cup of tea'd be lovely. Thank you." John said, watching me sit down.

"Just this once, dear. I'm not your housekeeper." She said poking her head around the corner.

"And a couple of biscuits too, if you've got them." I said.

"Not your housekeeper!" John and I laughed.

"You're a artist and your a doctor." John and I turned towards the door.

"Actually, you Riza, you used to be a sketch artist, and John you're an Amy doctor." Sherlock said.

"Yes." We said.

"Any good?"

"Very good."

"Seen a lot if injuries, then. Violent deaths."

"Well, yes." John said while I nodded.

"But of trouble too, I bet?"

"Of course. Yes. " I begun.

"Enough for a lifetime, far too much." John finished.

"Want to see some more?" We exchanged looks.

"Oh, God, yes." And like that we were out the door.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I'll skip the tea. Off out." I yelled as we ran downstairs.

"All three of you?" She asked.

"Impossible suicides? Four of them? No point sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on!" Sherlock said as he kissed her cheek.

"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She said.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on! Taxi!" And we were gone.

* * *

_A/N Alright! R&R please! Don't be meanies! Love you all!_


	4. Piss Off'

_A/N Hello my lovely readers! I have decided that since I have so much free time that I might as well just post at least one or two chapters for the story up each day. I'm hoping that I can get to episode four before school starts in a month so wish me luck!_

_Thanks!,_

_88IAMSherLOCKED88_

* * *

~*~'Piss Off!'~*~

After five minutes in the cab, Sherlock saw that me and John would glance at him, at each other then out the window.

"OK, you've got questions…" Sherlock said.

"Yeah, where are we going?" I asked.

"Crime scene. Next?"

"Who are you? What do you do?" John asked.

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked.

"I'd say…private detective." I begun.

"But…?"

"The police don't go to private detectives." John finished. Again. Sherlock sighed.

"I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job." He explained.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." Sherlock described.

"The police don't consult armatures." John responded.

"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said Afghanistan or Iraq. You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John asked. I sat there quietly and listened to the conversation.

"I didn't know, I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But your conversation as you entered the room said trained at Bart's - so Army doctor, obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand. Like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, suntan - Afghanistan or Iraq."

"You said I had a therapist." John retorted.

"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist, you twit." John glared and I think I just saw the corners of Sherlock's mouth twist up.

"What Riza just said. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player. You're looking for a flat-share. You wouldn't waste money on this - it's a gift, then. Scratches. Not one, many over 's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The man sitting next to me wouldn't treat your one luxury item like this. So it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already. 'Harry Watson - from Clara xxx'"

"The engraving?" I asked. Sherlock continued.

"Harry Watson - cleary a family member who's given you his old your father - this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara - who's Clara? Three kisses says romantic attachment. Expensive phone says wife, not girlfriend. Must've given it to him recently - this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then - six months on, and already he's giving it away? If she'd left him, he would've kept it. People do, sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it - he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation and you're not going to your brother for help? That says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife, maybe you don't like his drinking." I stared in surprise.

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" He smirked at me.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection - tiny little scuff marks round the edge. Every night he goes to plug it in and charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, never seen a drunk's without them. There you go, you see? You two were right." Me and John glanced at each other again.

"We were right? Right about what?" John asked.

"The police don't consult amateurs."

"That was amazing." We said.

"You think so?" He asked us.

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite extraordinary." John said.

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do people normally say?" I asked, confused.

"'Piss off!'" We started laughing at that.

* * *

_A/N I had fun writing this so R&R _

_Thank you all!,_

_88IAMSherLOCKED88_


	5. A Study in Pink Part 1

A/N _it's finally here!_

~*~A Study in Pink Part 1~*~

As we got out of the cab Sherlock asked another question.

"Did I get anything wrong?"

"Harry and me don't get on. Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and they're getting a divorce. And Harry is a drinker." John explained.

"Spot on, then. I didn't expect to be right about everything." Sherlock said walking in front of us.

"Harry's short for Harriet." I said. Sherlock stopped and we walked past him.

"Harry's your sister."

"Now what exactly are we doing here?" I asked him.

"Your sister!" Sherlock said ignoring me.

"No, seriously, what are we doing here?" John asked him, but he too, was ignored.

"There's always something." He said to himself.

"Hello, freak." I looked up and saw we had come to one of those police 'do not cross' tapes and saw a black woman with frizzy hair, who must have been the one who spoke.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock answered, unaffected.

"Why?" She asked.

"I was invited."

"Why…?"

"I think he wants me to take a look."

"You know what I think, don't you?" She asked sourly.

"Always, Sally. I even know that you didn't make it home last night." He said, smirking at her.

"Er…who are they?" She asked after an awkward pause.

"Colleagues of mine, Dr. Watson, and Ms.…" he trailed off not know my last name.

"James. Riza James." I replied.

"Dr. Watson, Ms. James, Sergeant Sally Donovan. Old friend."

"Colleagues? How do you get a colleague? Wha- did he follow you guys home?" She was starting to really irritate me…

"Would it be better if we just waited…?" John asked Sherlock.

"No." He replied, lifting the police tape. I sighed and followed, as Sgt. Donovan spoke into her CB.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." God she's annoying. After her, we ran into a man with black greasy hair and squinty eyes.

"Ah, Anderson. Here we are again." Sherlock said with a tone of disgust.

"It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?" The guy named Anderson said.

"Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" Sherlock asked him. I quietly gasped. I knew exactly where he was going with this and I needed to keep my giggles under control.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out, somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that." I stifled a giggled.

"My deodorant?" Anderson asked with a look of disbelief.

"It's for men." I made a tiny sound of a giggle but caught myself. I saw them glance at me.

"Well, of course it's for men. I'm wearing it." Then I started giggling and they looked at me confused.

"So's Sergeant Donovan. Oof. I think it just vaporized, may we go in?" I asked, calming down. Sherlock shot me an approving look then when we tried to walk past but Anderson stopped us.

"Now look, whatever you two are trying to imply…" Which was directed mostly at me.

"We're not implying anything." I said trying to look innocent. He glared at me.

"I'm sure Sally came around for a nice little chat and just happened to stay over. And I assu-"

"She scrubbed your floors going by the state of her knees." I finished for him. I saw that Sgt. Donovan was blushing furiously. After that little ordeal, we walked into the apartment complex.

"You'll need to wear one of these." Sherlock said, gesturing to the personal protection gowns, so me and John and started putting them on.

"Who's this?" Asked the same man that had walked into the flat, I'm guessing he's D. I. Lestrade.

"They're with me." Sherlock replied.

"Yeah, but who are they?" Lestrade asked.

"I said they're with me." Sherlock glared at him.

"Aren't you going to put one in?" John asked Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't answer him.

"So where are we?" Sherlock asked the man.

"Upstairs. I can give you two minutes." Lestrade said.

"May need longer"

"Her name's Jennifer Wilson, according to her credit cards. We're running then now for contact details. Hasn't been here long. Some kids found her." Lestrade explained as we went to the room.

As we stood there, the silence was overwhelming, and I could feel D. I. Lestrade thinking.

"Shut up." Sherlock and I said.

"I didn't say anything. " Lestrade said, looking at us confused, and Sherlock looked at me suspiciously.

"You were thinking. It's annoying." I said, rubbing my temples. Sherlock smirked then went to examine the body up close while I examined it from back here.

I saw that the victim had scratched a word into the wood floor. The scratches on her left hand nails told me she was left-handed. The message says, "Rache". It could be either a German threat meaning "revenge", or she could have been writing Rachel. I noticed that she has an umbrella in her pocket, but it is dry, and Lestrade just watches, confused as to what Sherlock is trying to piece together. I looked over to John and saw he was thinking. My though was interrupted by Lestrade.

"Got anything?" He asked Sherlock.

"Not much." Then a voice from the doorway sounded.

"She's German. "Rache". German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us something-"

"Yes, thank you for your input." I cut in, then I shut the door in Anderson's face.

"So she's German?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course she's not. She's from out of town thought, intending to stay in London for one night, before returning home to Cardiff, so far, so obvious." Sherlock explained.

"Sorry, obvious?" John asked.

"What about the message, though?" Lestrade said.

"Dr. Watson, what do you think?" Sherlock asked John.

"Of the message?"

"He's talking about the body. You're a medical man after all." I said, rolling my eyes. John glared at me. Again. Man, I'm getting glared at today.

"You know, we have a whole team outside." Lestrade said.

"They won't work with me." Sherlock said quickly.

"I'm breaking every rule letting you in here…" Lestrade said through tight lips.

"Yes, because you need me."

"Yes, I do. God Help me."

"Dr. Watson." Sherlock said looking at John. He looked at Lestrade.

"Hm?"

"Oh, do what he says. Help yourselves. Anderson, keep everyone out for a couple of minutes." Lestrade said walking out of the room an closing th door behind him.

"Well?" Sherlock asked us.

"What are we doing here?" John asked.

"Helping make a point." Sherlock replied bluntly.

"I should be moving my stuff into my OWN flat." I said, crossing my arms.

"And I'm supposed to be helping you pay the rent." John said.

"Yeah, well, this is more fun." Sherlock smiled.

"Fun?" I raised my eyebrow.

"There's a woman lying dead." John gestures to the body.

"Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." I watched them as Lestrade walked back in, his arms crossed.

"Yeah…Asphyxiation, probably. Passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alcohol on her. Could have been a seizure, possibly drugs." John pointed out.

"You know what it was, you read the papers." I said, kneeling down beside them.

"Well, she's one of the suicides, the fourth…" John trailed off.

"Sherlock- two minutes, I said. I need anything you've got."

"Victim is in her late 30s. Professional person going by her clothes. I'm guessing the media going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Traveled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock began explaining.

"Suitcase?!" Lestrade said, confused.

"Yes. She's married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married." I said, joining in.

"Oh, for gods, sake, if you're just making this up…!" Sherlock sighed but continued.

"Her wedding ring. Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewelry's been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside, so it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work, look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands. So, what, or rather, who does she remove her rings for? Not one lover, she'd never sustain the fiction of being single for that amount of time, so more likely a string of lovers. Simple."

"That's brilliant!" Sherlock looked at him. "Sorry."

"Cardiff…?" Lestrade asked.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" I asked. Sherlock nodded and John said,

"It's not obvious to me."

"Dear god. What is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring! Her coat- it's slightly damp, she's been in heaving rain for the last few hours- no rain anywhere in London at that time." I looked to Sherlock, who nodded and took over.

"Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left hand pocket, but it's dry and unused. Not just wind, strong wind, too strong to use her umbrella. We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight," Sherlock glanced at me, so I interjected the rest.

"So she must have come a decent distance but she can't have traveled for more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?"

"Cardiff." We said, and Sherlock showed a weather map to Lestrade.

"That's fantastic!" John exclaimed.

"Do you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock asked him.

"Sorry, I'll shut up."

"No, it's…fine."

"Why do you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade asked.

"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organizer. Find out who Rachel is." Sherlock said, looking around.

"She was writing Rachel?" Lestrade asked, which caused me to go into sarcastic mode.

"No, she was writing an angry note in German! Of course she was writing Rachel, no other word it can be. But why would she wait until she was dying to write it?" I asked myself, while Lestrade glared at me.

"How do you know she had a suitcase?" He asked us.

"Back of the right leg. Tiny splash marks on her right heel and calf not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way." I started pointing out, and Sherlock finished the rest.

"Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes- conscious- could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was only staying one night. Now where is it? What have you done with it?" Sherlock said, kneeling by the body again.

"There wasn't a case." Lestrade said. Me and Sherlock froze.

"Say that again." I said.

"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."

"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?" Sherlock said, while I followed him out of the room.

"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called after us.

"But they take the poison themselves, they chew, swallow the pills, themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." I said.

"Right, yeah, thanks. And…?"

"It's murder. All of them. I don't know how. But they're not suicides, they're serial killings. We've got ourselves a serial killer. Love those. There's always something to look forward to." Sherlock said crazily.

"Why are you saying that?"

"Her case! Come on, where is her case, did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case. So the killer must have driven her here. Forgot the case was in the car." Sherlock said, urgently.

"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John said, watching us racing down the stairs.

"No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair! She color-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes! She'd never leave any hotel with her hair still looking… Oh…" I said, stopping Sherlock. He looked at me, realization dawning on him.

"…Oh…"

"Riza, Sherlock, what is it, what?"

"Serial killers, always hard. Have to wait for them to make a mistake." I said, running past Sherlock, yet pulling him with me.

"We can't just wait." Lestrade called down again.

"Oh, were done waiting. Look at her, really look! Get on to Cardiff. Find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" Sherlock yelled, about to run out the door.

"Of course, yeah… but what mistake?!" We ran back to the stairs.

"PINK!"

Sherlock's P. O. V.

Riza continued pulling me absentmindedly. She was so quick to catch on. She would start or finish the deduction for me, and it was amazing. I realized that she had taken me outside of the Police 'Do Not Cross' Tape, and had stopped.

"Sherlock?" She let go of my wrist.

"What?" I asked.

"What now?"

"Now I go look for the case, and you go back home." I started walking away, but she easily got up with me.

"What?! Wha-why do I have to go home? Why can't I help you?"

"Because it might be too dangerous and I don't want to be the reason you get hurt."

"What are you talking about? You won't be the reason. You know why? Because I'm volunteering to go." She jerked my arm back, making me stop.

"You'll get hurt. Go. Home." I spat at her. She let go, looking hurt. I walked away, and left her.

"Fine! But don't try to ask for my help later!" I heard her yell after me. I shrugged it off and got a cab.

Riza's P. O. V.

Hmph! Jerk. Don't come crying to me when you need help with a case. I started walking to the main road to get a cab when a black car pulled up beside me and a girl texting stepped out.

"Get into the car, Riza." I looked at her. Then at the car. Then at the girl again. She just stood there texting away. I looked around, then looked at the car again. I finally got in it, and the girl texting got in.

Then we drove away to an unknown place.


	6. The Mystery Man

~*~The Mystery Man~*~

We pulled into an abandoned warehouse and the girl and I started walking through it. Then he suddenly stopped and nodded her head in a direction.

"Over there." I nodded and made my way to the dark, quiet place to see a man that looks to be in his late forties and was leaning in an umbrella.

"Have a seat, Riza." He gestured to the seat in front of him.

"You know, I've got a phone. I mean, very clever and all that, but, er… you could just phone me. On my phone, Mr. Holmes." I said, figuring out who he was and ignoring his last statement.

"Hmm, you're much cleverer than I thought you would be, and when one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place. Sit down." Mr. Holmes said.

"But I don't want to sit down." I said like a child. He chuckled.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening."

"Yes… Anyways, what is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"

"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him just this evening."

"Mmm, and since then you've moved in next door to him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?

"Who are you?" I asked, loosing my patience.

"An interested party." Was all he said.

"Interested in Sherlock? Why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him. How many friends do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An enemy?" Now I was slightly confused, but my stone-faced expression didn't falter.

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his arch-enemy. He does love to be dramatic." He sighed.

"Well, thank god you're above all that" I said, sarcastically.

'Beep!' My phone said. I looked at it.

'Baker Street.

Come at once

if convenient.

SH'

I shook my head, still slightly mad at him. How the hell did he get my number?!

"I hope I'm not distracting you."

"Nope! I'm not distracting me at all." I said, smiling.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong… but I think that's none of your business." My stone face came back.

"It could be."

"It really couldn't."

"If you do choose to stay touch with him, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way."

"Why?" I asked. He was acting suspicious.

"Because you're not a very wealthy woman."

"In exchange for what?" I asked, crossing my arms. He smirked.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" I clenched my teeth.

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you."

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a… difficult relationship."

'Beep!' My phone went again. I looked at it an saw it was Sherlock again.

'If inconvenient,

come anyway.

SH'

"No."I said, putting away my phone.

"But I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

"You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not, I'm just not interested."

"Abandonment issues" it says here."

"What's that?" I gulped.

"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Who says I trust him?"

"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily."

"Are we done?" I said, impatiently.

"You tell me. I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but can I see you wrists?" I gasped slightly.

"M-my what?"

"Show me." He made a grab for my arm. I jerked away and stepped back.

"Don't."

"Remarkable ."

"What is it?"

"Most people blunder around this city and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the danger. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my wrist?"

"You have scars covering your left arm. Your therapist thinks you're haunted by memories of your adopted family."

"Who the hell are you? How do you know that?"

"Fire her. She's got it the wrong way. You're not haunted by your abusive adopted family, Ms. James… you're scarred by it. Think it over, Ms. James." Then he left. My phone went off again. 'Beep!'

'Could be

dangerous.

SH'

As I walked back to the car, I texted him back.

'How the HELL did you get my number?!

RJ'

I walked up to the girl that was texting.

"I'm to take you home. Address?"

"Er…Baker Street. 222B Baker Street." While on the ride to my place, Sherlock texted back.

'Looked in John's contact book.

SH'

'Why? I thought you didn't want my help, anyway…

RJ'

'I never said that. I just dint want to be the reason you get hurt. And besides you're very clever. I need you. I also need John because of his medical skills.

SH'

'Ugh! Fine! I'm almost there anyway…

RJ'

'See you then.

SH'

I put away my phone just as we stopped, and I stepped out, slamming the door behind me. As the car pulled away, I went to 221B's door and found it was open, and as always, I let myself in and skipped up the stairs. When I got onto the landing, the door downstairs opened, and I heard John's footsteps coming up the stairs and I waited there for him.

When he saw me on the landing, he looked surprised.

"Not that I'm not happy you're here, what are you doing here?"

"Sherlock texted me."

"Ah…wait-how did he get your number?"

"Your contact book."

"Oh, okay." Then we walked inside the flat.


	7. A Study in Pink Part 2

~*~A Study in Pink Part 2~*~

We walked into the flat and saw Sherlock LYING on the COUCH.

"What the hell?!" I said, startled that he was just lying on the couch, while me and John were out and about.

"What are you doing?" John asked him. Sherlock revealed his arm, showing nicotine patches.

"Nicotine patch. Helps me think. Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." He said sighing, and going back to thinking.

"It's good news for breathing." John said.

"Oh, breathing! Breathing's boring." I shook my head smiling. It was actually kind of cute when he does tha- wait a minute! Did I just say cute?! I shook my head again, only this time, at my own thoughts.

"Is that… three patches?" John asked.

"It's a three patch problem."

"Well?" He didn't answer. "You asked me to come, I'm assuming it's important."

"…Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone, Riza?" Why my phone?

"My phone? Why my phone?"

"Don't want to use mine. Always a chance that my number will be recognized. It's on the website."

"Mrs. Hudson's got a phone." John pointed out.

"Yeah. She's downstairs. I shouted, but she didn't hear me." Sherlock said.

"What about John's phone?"

"I was on the other side of London." John raised his eyebrow at me.

"So was I." I argued back.

"There was no hurry." Sherlock said, calmly. I sighed.

"Fine. Here. So what's this about- the case?"

"Her case…"

"Her case?" John asked.

"Her suitcase, yes, obviously. The murderer took her suitcase, first big mistake." Sherlock said.

"Okay, he took her case. So?" John asked.

"It's no use. There's no other way. We'll have to risk it. Riza! On my desk, there's a number. I want you to send a text." I smiled bitterly.

"You brought us here… just for me… to send a text."

"Text. Yes. The number on my desk. What's wrong?"

"Just met a friend of yours." John said.

"A friend?!" Sherlock asked, startled.

"An enemy." He said. He seemed a bit happier.

"Oh. Which one?"

"Well, your arch-enemy, according to him. Do people have arch-enemies?" John asked.

"Oh, then I met him as well." I said, in a tone of disgust.

"Did he offer you guys money to spy on me?"

"Yes." We said.

"Did you take it?"

"No." John said.

"Of course not!" I said.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." I sweat-dropped.

"Who is he?" John asked. If he didn't know, I'll let him figure that out.

"The most dangerous man you've ever met and not my problem right now. Riza! On my desk, the number!" I went over to the desk, and pulled out my phone. Then I noticed the name.

"Jennifer Wilson. That was… Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"

"Yes, that's not important. Just enter the number. Are you doing it?"

"Yes."

"Have you done it."

"Yeah, hang on!" I yelled.

"These words, exactly. "What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street, please come." Sherlock quoted.

'What happened at Lauriston Gdns? I must have black-'

"You blacked out?" I asked astonished.

"What? No… No! Type and send it. Quickly. Have you sent it?" He asked, walking in the coffee table and to the chair beside me and John.

"What's the address?"

"22 Northumberland Street. Hurry up!" I flinched, but typed it down.

'What happened at Lauriston Gdns? I must have blacked out. 22 Northumberland Street, please come.' I sent it and turned around to see a small pink suitcase on a chair in front of Sherlock.

"That's… That's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case. " John said, and I looked at Sherlock a bit freaked out.

"Yes, obviously…Oh, perhaps I should mention, I didn't kill her." I let out a sigh I didn't even know I was holding.

"I never said you did." John said.

"Why not? Given the text I just had Riza send and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption."

"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" I asked. He smiled his cute crooked smile. Wait!-Damnit! I did it again!

"Now and then, yes." He pulled up his feet up in his chair.

"Okay… How did you get this?" John asked.

"By looking." I moved to the couch and sat upside down, my feet hitting the wall and my hair hanging off the couch.

"Looking where?" I pried.

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens. He could only keep her case by accident if it was in a car. Nobody could be seen with this case without drawing attention to themselves, particularly a man, which is statistically more likely. So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. Wouldn't have taken him more than five minutes to realize his mistake. I checked every backstreet wide enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. It took me less than an hour to find the right skip." He described for us.

"Pink. You got all that because you realized the case would be pink?" I asked.

"It had to be pink, obviously." I made a bubble face at him. His mouth twitched.

"Why didn't I think of that?" John asked.

"Because you're an idiot." John looked at him, insulted. "No, no, don't look like that. Practically everyone is. Now look. Do you see what's missing?"

"From the case? How could I?" John asked.

"Her phone. Where's her mobile?" I asked.

"There was no phone on the body, there was no phone in the case. We know she had one. You just texted it." Sherlock continued.

"Maybe she left it at home." John suggested.

"She has a string of lovers and she's careful about it. She never leaves her phone at home."

"Er… Why did I just send that text?" I asked.

"Well, the question is, where is her phone now?" Sherlock asked.

"She could have lost it." John said.

"Yes, or?"

"The murderer… You think the murderer has the phone?" I asked.

"Maybe she left it when she left her case. Maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is the murderer has her phone."

"Sorry… what are we doing? Did I just text a murderer? What good will that do?" I asked, alarmed.

'Ring! Ring! Ring!' I looked at the phone.

'Withheld Calling' I then looked at Sherlock, eyes wide in fright. Sherlock smirked.

"A few hours after the last victim, and now he receives a text that can only be from her. If somebody had just found that phone, they'd ignore a text like that. But the murderer… would panic." He slammed the suitcase shut, and walked to get his coat.

"Have you talked to the police?" I asked, still upside down in the couch.

"Four people are dead. There isn't time to talk to the police."

"So why are you talking to us?" John asked him.

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." He said, depressed.

"So we're basically filling in for your skull?" I asked.

"Relax, you're doing fine. Well?"

"Well, what?" John asked.

"Well… you could just sit there and… watch telly."

"You want us to come with you?"

"I like company when I go out and, uh, I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so…" I jumped up and walked over to open the door, but I got a head rush from the sudden movement change, and stumbled falling forward. I thought I was about to hit the ground but Sherlock easily caught me and brought me back up, steadying me. I smiled apologetically.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked John.

"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan."

"What about her?"

"She said you get off on this, you enjoy it."

"And I said "dangerous", and here you are." He took my hand, and drug me out. I blushed furiously, so I put my head down so he wouldn't see it, and tried pushing it down. I heard John shout,

"Dammit!" And ran down after us.


	8. Taxi Chase

~*~Taxi Chase~*~

While we were walking down the street, I looked over to Sherlock.

"Can I have my hand back, now?" I asked, almost reluctantly. I saw him glance my way, and felt his hand release mine.

"Thank you…" I said, slowing my pace so I could be in the back, away from Sherlock, so I could think clearly.

"Where are we going?" John asked Sherlock.

"Northumberland Street's a five minute walk from here." He said, looking straight ahead.

"You think he's stupid enough to go there?"

"No, I think he's brilliant enough. I love the brilliant ones. They're always so desperate to get caught."

"Why?"

"Appreciation! Applause! At long last the spotlight. That's the frailty of genius, John. It needs an audience."

"Yeah."

"This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything. Because all of his victims disappeared from busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go. Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?" Sherlock asked us, but mostly was asking himself.

"Don't know. Who?"

"Haven't the faintest. Hungry?" He asked, as we walked toward a restaurant.

_*_Inside the restaurant_*_

"Thank you, Billy." Sherlock said to some waiter, who appointed us to a table. We got seated at the front table near the window, and John sat in front of the window and put his jacket right next to him, which forced me to sit next to Sherlock. My blushed was even darker, but hid my face with my hair.

"22 Northumberland Street. Keep your eyes on it." Sherlock said to us.

"He's not just going to ring the doorbell, is he? He'd have to be mad." John said.

"He has killed four people."

"Okay." Then, I'm guessing, the manager came over to our table.

"Sherlock! Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house, for you, your friend, and for your date." He gestured to me.

"Do you want to eat?" He asked me and John.

"I'm not his date." I said quietly.

"This man got me off a murder charge." He said, and one-arm hugged Sherlock, who looked like he was forcing a smile.

"This is Angelo. Three years ago, I successfully proved to Lestrade, at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder, that Angelo was in a different part of town, house-breaking."

"He cleared my name." The man Angelo said.

"I cleared it a bit. Anything happening outside?" Sherlock asked him.

"Nothing. But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."

"You did go to prison." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Ah…I'll get a candle for the table. It's more romantic."

"I'm not his date!" I said again, only louder this time.

"You may as well eat. We might have a long wait." He told us. Then Angelo brought a candle over.

"Thanks." I said sarcastically. I saw John look at my flushed face, and he raise his eyebrow. I looked away, not looking at either of them.

"Riza, are you feeling okay?" John asked me.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" I looked at him, smiling.

"Your face is all red. " Sherlock said.

"Wha-?! It's not! It's probably just because its hot in here!" I said, and laughed nervously.

"Then why don't you take off your jacket?" John asked. I quickly covered up the real reason.

"Oh you know…don't wanna worry about putting it back on, when we go to leave." They eyed me suspiciously.

"Alright." They said.

_*_Later_*_

"People don't have arch-enemies." John suddenly said.

"I'm sorry?"

"In real life. There are no arch-enemies in real life. Doesn't happen."

"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull."

"So who did I meet?"

"What do real people have, then, in their "real lives"?"

"Friends? Or people they know, people they like, people they don't like… Girlfriends, boyfriends." I spoke up.

"Yeah, well, as I was saying, dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?" I glared at him, and he fought back a smile.

"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock said, not really paying attention to the invisible war going on between me and John at the moment.

"Mm. Oh, right. Do you have a boyfriend?" I asked him. Payback…

"Which is fine, by the way." John said, quickly.

"I know it's fine."

"So you've got a boyfriend, then?" John asked. I pouted. It didn't affect him…

"No."

"Right. Okay. You're unattached. Like me. Fine. Good." I sniggered. Sherlock and John sat there awkwardly while I, on the other hand, was suppressing my laughter so hard I had to turn away and keep my mouth covered.

"John, um… I think you should know I consider myself married to my work and while I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for any…" I think a squeak just escaped.

"No," John choked out. "I'm… not asking. I'm just saying, it's all fine." I turned back around, after I bit my lip to make me stop laughing, and looked out the window.

"Good. Thank you." I cleared my throat, and they looked at me.

"Look across the street. Taxi. It's stopped. Nobody getting in, nobody getting out. Why a taxi? Oh, that's clever. Is it clever? Why is it clever?" I said, staring intently at the cab.

"That's him." John said.

"Don't stare." Sherlock told John.

"You guys are staring." John said.

"We can't all stare." I said, then got up and left the restaurant without a second thought. I didn't know if they were following me or not, but I heard John yell 'Wait!' When I ran into the street, and almost got hit by a car. I was quick because I timed it perfectly and slide across the hood and stopped. I heard John behind me yell 'Sorry!…' then they caught up to me.

"I've got the cab number." John said.

"Good for you." Sherlock said. Then he closed his eyes and started saying all kinds of rubbish that sounded like a route.

"Right turn, one way, roadworks, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights." Then he started running down the street. The moment he moved I had to grab John and drag him because he's so slow.

When we got up to an alleyway, Sherlock pushed a pedestrian out of the way, and John being who he is yelled, "Sorry!"

"Come on, John…" Sherlock said, because John was very behind.

_*_Later_*_

We had to jump across to buildings and John had stopped.

"Come on, John. We're losing him!"

Then he was across.

_*_Later_*_

"This way." Sherlock said, as we turned the corner. John went the wrong way. "No, this way!"

"Sorry!"

_*_Later(again-_-')_*_

We finally caught up with the cab, but since I was dressed casually, and the other two looked nice, so I went behind the cab.

"Police! Open her up." Sherlock said, panting. "No… Teeth, tan. What Californian? LA, Santa Monica. Just arrived."

"How can you possibly know that?" John asked.

"The luggage." Sherlock said, sounding depressed again. "Probably your first trip to London, right? Going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you."

"Sorry, are you guys the police?" The Californian asked.

"Yeah." Sherlock flashed a fake police ID. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah." The Californian said, confused. Sherlock fake smiled.

"Welcome to London." Then he left.

"Er, any problems, just let us know." John said, then he shut the taxi door.

We walked over to a further spot down, and started talking.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down." I said, still trying to catch my breath.

"Basically." Sherlock said.

"Not the murderer." John said.

"Not the murderer, no." Sherlock shook his head.

"Wrong country, good alibi." I said.

"As they go." John reached for the ID in Sherlock's hand.

"Hey, where did you get this? Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one. I've got plenty at the flat." Sherlock said, and John and I laughed.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Nothing, just… "Welcome to London"." I said. Sherlock sniggered. We turn around to look at the cab, and we see the Californian out of the cab and and is describing John and Sherlock to an actual police officer.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked.

"Ready when you are." John and I said. Then we ran off.

~*~Laaaaateerrrrr~*~

We got to Sherlock and John's flat and ran into it, and we were leaning against the wall, next to the stairs.

"That was Awesome!" I said, laughing.

"That was the most ridiculous thing… I've ever done." John panted.

"And you invaded Afghanistan." Sherlock pointed out, and we started laughing.

"That wasn't just me. Why aren't we back at the restaurant?" John asked.

"They can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway." Sherlock said.

"So what were we doing there?" I asked. Sherlock caught his breath.

"Oh, just passing the time. And proving a point."

"What point?" John asked confused.

"You. Mrs. Hudson! Dr. Watson will take the room upstairs."

"Says who?"

"Says the man at the door." Sherlock nodded at the door. There was a knock and John answered.

"Sherlock texted me. He said you forgot this." Angelo said, handing John his cane.

"Ah…" We looked at Sherlock and saw he was smiling. "Er… Thank you. Thank you." He closed the door and walked back over to us, just as Ms. Hudson came in, looking distraught.

"Sherlock, what have you done?" She asked him. We all began to worry.

"Ms. Hudson?"

"Upstairs." Was all she could say, because we had already taken off up the stairs.


	9. A Study in Pink Part 3

~*~A Study in Pink Part 3~*~

When we got up the stairs, we saw Lestrade sitting in a chair, and a bunch of other police officers snooping around their flat.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid." Lestrade said, rolling his eyes.

"You can't just break into my flat." Sherlock said angrily.

"You can't withhold evidence- and I didn't break into your flat." Lestrade argued back.

"Well, then, what do you call this, then?" He gestured to everyone.

"It's a drugs bust." Lestrade said, smiling.

"Seriously? This guy- a junkie? Have you met him?" John said.

"John…" Sherlock warned.

"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day and you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John said, ignoring Sherlock.

"John, you probably want to shut up now." Sherlock warned again.

"Yeah, but come on." John said. Sherlock glared at him.

"No…" I started. Sherlock looked at me.

"What?" He asked.

"You?" John asked.

"Shut up!" Then he looked at Lestrade. "I'm not your sniffer dog."

"No, Anderson's my sniffer dog."

"Wha- An…" Anderson waved at Sherlock. "Anderson, what are you doing here on a drugs bust?"

"Oh, I volunteered."

"They all did. They're not strictly speaking on the drug squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade said. Sgt. Donovan came out of the kitchen and held up a jar that had human eyes in it.

"Are these human eyes?" She said.

"Put them back!" Sherlock yelled.

"They were in the microwave."

"It's an experiment."

"Keep looking, guys. Or you could start helping us properly, and I'll stand them down." Lestrade said.

"This is childish." I growled.

"Well, I'm dealing with children. Sherlock, this is our case. I'm letting you in, but you do not go off on your own. Clear?" Lestrade asked.

"Oh, so, so, so you set up a pretend drugs bust to bully me?"

"It stops being pretend if we find anything."

"I am clean."

"Is your flat? All of it?"

"I don't even smoke." Sherlock showed his nicotine patches.

"Neither do I." Lestrade revealed his patch, too. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?"

"She's Jennifer Wilson's only daughter."

"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?" I asked. Anderson butted in again.

"Never mind that, we found the case. According to someone, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favorite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath. Anderson, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in to question her. I need to question her."

"She's dead."

"Excellent. How, when, and why? Is there a connection? There has to be." I said quickly.

"Well, I doubt it since she's been dead for 14 years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, 14 years ago." I looked down. That's just terrible…

"Oh, that's… that's not right. How… why would she do that? Why?" Sherlock asked himself.

"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yep- sociopath. I'm seeing it now." Anderson said.

"She didn't think about her daughter. She scratched the name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would of hurt." I said, walking away from Sherlock and standing next to John.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he makes them take it. Well, maybe he… I don't know, talks to them. Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John said to me.

"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?" Sherlock asked. There was an awkward pause, and everyone shifted around. "Not good?"

"Bit not good, yeah." John said.

"If you were dying, if you'd been murdered, in your very last few seconds, what would you say?" Sherlock asked John.

"'Please God, let me live.'" John said.

"Use your imagination!" I yelled.

"I don't have to."

"Yeah, but if you were clever, really clever. Jennifer Wilson, running all those lovers, she was clever. She's trying to tell us something." Sherlock said.

"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Ms. Hudson said, coming in.

"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock said, shooing her away.

"Oh, dear. They're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Ms. Hudson asked.

"It's a drugs bust, Mrs. Hudson." John told her.

"But they're just for my hip. They're herbal soothers." She said, and I cracked a smile.

"Shut up, everybody! Shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe. I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way. You're putting me off." Sherlock yelled. I chuckled.

"What? My face is?" Anderson asked.

"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson turn your back." Lestrade said.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Anderson complained.

"Your back, now, please!" Lestrade yelled back at him.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Sherlock said to himself.

"What about your taxi?" Ms. Hudson asked urgently.

"MRS. HUDSON!" Sherlock yelled at her, frustrated. She ran off. "Oh… Ah! She was clever. Clever… clever, yes! She's cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see? Do you get it? She didn't lose her phone, she never lost it. She planted it on him." Sherlock said, figuring it out. I saw what he was saying and I gasped. They all looked at me.

"When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer." I concluded. Sherlock nodded and threw a small smile at me when no one was looking.

"But how?" Lestrade asked.

"What, what do you mean, how? Rachel! Don't you see? Rachel!" I said. Everybody stared at me(except for Sherlock) like I was crazy.

"Oh… Look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being us? It must be so relaxing. Rachel is not a name." Sherlock said.

"Then what is it?" John asked.

"John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address." I said rushing over to his computer. It was password protected. I typed in 'Fort Knox' and I was in.

"Er, .uk" John read off.

"Ah, we know she didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone. So it's a smartphone. It's e-mail enabled. So there was a website for her account. The username is her e-mail address, and all together now, the password is…?" I said happily.

"Rachel." John said.

"So we can read her e-mails. So what?" Anderson asked. I was going to say something to insult him, but Sherlock beat me to it.

"Anderson, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street. We can do much more than just read her e-mails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS. Which means if you lose it, you can locate it online. She's leading us directly to the man who killed her."

"Unless he got rid of it." Lestrade suggested.

"We know he didn't." John said.

"Come on, come on. Quickly!" I said, tapping the keyboard.

"Sherlock, dear. This taxi driver…" Ms. Hudson said, coming back to the doorway.

"Mrs. Hudson, isn't it time for your evening soother?" I shook my head. Sherlock looked to Lestrade. "Get vehicles, get a helicopter. We've got to move fast. This phone battery won't last forever."

"We'll just have a map reference, not a name." Lestrade said. The GPS map popped up and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"It's a start!" I heard Sherlock say.

"Sherlock…" I started to say.

"Narrows it down from just anyone in London. It's the first proper lead that we've had." Sherlock continued.

"Sherlock…" I heard John say. Sherlock came over, and looked over my shoulder. I could feel his warm breath on my neck, and I shivered.

"Where is it? Quickly, where?"

"It's here… It's in… 221 Baker Street." I said, shakily.

"How can it be here? How?" Sherlock asked, getting up swiveling around to look.

"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back, and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade put out.

"And I didn't notice it? Me? I didn't notice?" As I sat there, I started drifting off.

"Anyway, we texted him, and he called back." I heard John faintly say. Then I really drifted off.

'Who do we trust, even if we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed wherever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?'

"We trust them, even though we don't know them…" I muttered.

Then it all clicked.


End file.
